


Somewhere Between

by swimmerchic27



Category: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Genre: Ghost King Danny, dean gets stuck in the veil yay, im an artist not a writer so this is gonna be some bs, probably, superphantom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmerchic27/pseuds/swimmerchic27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean touches something he shouldn't and gets stuck in the veil. Danny is too tired to deal with this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Between

**Author's Note:**

> in case u missed the tag, im def an artist and not a writer but i cannot draw the spn boys to save my neck and this idea has been bothering me for weeks and i can never get enough fucking superphantom so tada heres some bullshit that ive actually got plans for 
> 
> but like if someone wants to take this from me or help me like pls

Waking up to blinding light and ringing in your ears is never a pleasant experience. For Dean Winchester, however, it isn't an unusual one. He sits up from the hard ground, concrete, and grabs his head with his hands. He's definitely going to have one hell of a headache later. Groaning, he opens his eyes and gets to his feet in one movement. Bright sunlight burns his eyes and he throws up an arm to block it out. In front of him is a street, complete with normal street things like cars and signs. To either side of him people walk in one direction or the other going about their business. He turns to ask an approaching lady just where the fuck he is when someone walks straight through him. And oh hell if he doesn't recognize the feeling. 

Dean was stuck. Incorporeal and caught in the veil. For all intents and purposes, a spirit. One clumsy move while doing seemingly never ending inventory in the bunker’s artifact collection and suddenly he's slammed in between one plane of existence and the next. Again. Not only that, he's sure not in Kansas anymore. Or, at least, certainly not in the bunker anymore. He's standing on the sidewalk in front of a burger joint called “Nasty Burger”. Honestly, he thinks, what the hell kinda name is that?

Three teens step out of the joint, chatting animatedly in the afternoon sunlight. Something is off about all of them, though they laugh and talk like typical teenagers. They hold themselves tall and keep their eyes on their surroundings. Dean recognizes the look as something that comes from years of fighting for your life. But surely these kids haven't ever had to fight off anything, he thins. Nothing more that school bullies, at least.

But Something is very, very off about the kid with the messy black hair. Something more than the way he stands and scans his surroundings. Something about the bags under his eyes and the bruises on his arms. Something about the way his eyes catch on Dean’s when everyone else has simply walked through him. 

“Hey, I've got an errand to run, I'll talk to you guys tomorrow,” he says to his friends, eyes never leaving Dean. 

His friends share a look, suspicious, but nod and say their goodbyes. “See you tomorrow.”

The kid walks towards Dean, unhurried, ice eyes holding him still. People walk through him but the boy doesn't flinch. Isn't surprised. Who is he?

“Walk with me,” he says when he gets to Dean, never stopping, still walking down the street. 

Dean does. 

The kid doesn't stop until he gets to a tall oak in the middle of a park, shadows long in the setting sun. He sits at the roots of the tree, relaxed. Messy hair against rough bark, too tired eyes closed. If Dean weren't so impatient, done waiting for answers, he might feel sorry for the kid with the bags so heavy under his eyes. 

“Dude,” he snaps, “I'm didn't follow you across town for you to sleep! Why the fuck are you the only one who can see me?”

The boy sighs, sounding more exhausted than he looks. “Well, now that people won't think I'm crazy for talking to the air, I guess that's a fair question.” He pries open one eye, “sorry to break it to you, but you're dead.”

Dean supposes that most people stuck in the veil are, in fact, dead. So he decides to let that slide. “Thanks, Sherlock, I'm very well aware that I'm stuck in the fucking veil. That's not what I asked. Why can you see me?” The kid looks so jaded, like Dean isn't the first, or even third “dead” person he's dealt with. Dean wants to know why the hell that is. 

“I'm something of a sensitive, I guess,” the kid shrugs sluggishly. “It's not like ghosts are rare around here. But spirits of the recently deceased sort of are,” he explained. “I guess it's my job to help out where I can with unfinished business and what not. So what's your deal? Got someone you need a message delivered too.” 

“Got someone I need a... Shit! Sammy!” Sam has to be worried by now, it wasn't even lunch time when he was doing inventory. He turned to the kid, “Where the hell are we?”

Aside from a raised eyebrow, he doesn't react, “Amity park, Illinois.” 

Illinois, fucking Illinois! How did I get from Kansas to some small town in fucking Illinois of all places? “God fucking damn it! Thanks kid, but I've got someplace to be.” He remembers a little of learning to teleport through the veil years ago and concentrates hard on the Men of Letters bunker. 

The kid shrugs, “No problem.” And then he's gone. 

\-------------

“SAM!” he yells. He's back in the bunker, standing in the central room. Lessons from a dead kid so many years ago coming back to him easily. Sam sits at one of the tables, books and laptop in front of him. Searching for a hunt. He doesn't hear Dean at all. Dean watches as he digs at his jeans for his phone, disoriented and tired from the jump through space. 

“Dean, dude, where are you hiding? I know you're here because the car is still here and you know you're on cleanup duty tonight. If I don't find you soon I'm going to take a lighter to your porn stash,” Sam says into his phone and then ends the call. The threat to his precious collection snaps Dean out of his daze. What had the dead boy said? Concentrate or get angry to make things happen? He could do that. 

“Heya Sammy,” he said and hoped like hell the he was both visible and audible. 

Sam jump, visibly surprised at the appearing act. “Dean! You startled me. Where the hell have you been all day, I've been calling.” 

Dean closed the distance between him and the table. “Well,” he said. “We've got a small problem,” and shoved his hand through the table. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “Oh.”


End file.
